And the Oscar for Best Reality Show Script Goes to Will Smith
By Jan O'Hara | April 18, 2022 |
During the 2022 Academy Awards, much of the world was transfixed when the actor Will Smith strode onstage and proceeded to slap comedian Chris Rock across the face for a joke made about his wife’s appearance. (Rock compared Pinkett Smith, who suffers from alopecia and sports a shaved head, to the character GI Jane.) He then returned to his front-row seat and instructed Rock to “keep my wife’s name out of your f***ing mouth.”
Twice.
I happened to be watching at the time and, as one does these days, hastened to Twitter to see what others made of the incident. In the moments that followed, we collectively watched to see whether it had been a stunt gone wrong (it wasn’t), whether the Academy would boot Smith from the auditorium (nope). Whether he’d win the award for Best Actor (he did). And how his tearful acceptance speech would go over. (It met with what seemed a standard amount of applause and a standing ovation.)
Nor was I alone in my desire to talk it through. For days after, if you were anywhere in the public or virtual square, the event’s analysis proved inescapable.
In fact, the conversation only died down when Smith apologized through his PR firm, resigned from the Academy, accepted their punishment (a ten-year ban on award ceremony attendance), and vanished from public view.
So why resurrect the incident on WU? While part of me cringes on behalf of the Smith family, the writer part of me acknowledges it was a decidedly viral moment, and we can benefit from determining which “story” elements made it so. Perhaps we can extract some good from the situation by learning how to strengthen the appeal of our own work.
Let’s have a look…
1. Ping ancient protective circuits.
Think back over the past month. As you went about your life, did you look at the people around you and wonder about the risk of physical violence, however fleetingly?
If not, that’s wonderful. I’m truly delighted that you haven’t had to consciously access a life-saving algorithm that runs in your brain. But it’s there for you—a gift bequeathed by evolution. We owe our existence to ancestors who could accurately gauge the difference between someone else’s annoyance versus homicidal rage, who calibrated their defensive response accordingly, and who lived at least long enough to reproduce.
Writing takeaway: The slap represented both a universal and primal conflict with the potential for huge stakes. To help with the virality of your story, can you tweak your story’s conflict to hit those same points?
2. Create cognitive dissonance.
In the stultified air of an Academy Award theater, did you expect an act of spontaneous physical violence? Likely not. Your reptilian brain looked at the tuxes and gowns, the coiffed hair—the extreme public nature of the event, making everyone conscious of the status they’d risk by acting out of line—and thought “safety.” (Obviously we’ve forgotten about the Red Wedding episode in Game of Thrones.)
Unpredictable aggression is extremely dangerous for our species—and therefore extremely unsettling, even for those who are physically unharmed but who function as bystanders. It’s instinctive to want to understand where our predictive algorithm failed us, and how we can improve it going forward.
Writing takeaway: Lull your readership into a sense of familiarity and safety, then shock them with the unexpected. Their minds will work overtime to resolve the cognitive dissonance.
3. Create rich backstory and characterization.
What vital cues were missed that could have prepared us for Smith’s behavior? What set him off? To answer these questions, notice your mind went immediately to backstory and an understanding of character.
To predict the future, we naturally seek clues in the past.
In the days following the Awards, pundits and fans scoured the Smith family’s public record for a meaningful explanation. Here’s a small (and mutually contradictory) sample of their conclusions. (Not mine; I can’t pretend to understand the actual dynamics at play.)
Some say the slap wasn’t a departure from normal. While Smith dons a clean-cut public persona—refusing to insert curse words into his rap music, for instance—it expressed his true personality and capabilities.
Others point to Smith’s biography, and that he witnessed his parents’ abusive marriage. They theorize the resulting, unaddressed trauma resurfaced at a moment of vulnerability.
There were allegations of substance abuse. Of a troubled marriage that invited uncharacteristic acts.
Some say the offense wasn’t Smith’s at all. That Chris Rock struck the original blow with his crack at Pinkett Smith’s appearance—unfair, because a woman’s societal value is based primarily on her appearance, and her condition is out of her control. He got what any truly loyal husband would dish out.
Quite a variety of diagnoses, yes? If you were to prescribe a redemptive storyline, see how they’d feed into a variety of character arcs?
Writing takeaway: Seed in characterization and backstory that offer contradictory clues about your character’s motivation, then sit back as readers follow the red herrings. (Of course, you’ll need to lay evidence of the real psychological truth.)
4. Involve a primed village.
Our backstories determined how we saw the incident. A victim of domestic violence will interpret it differently than a gigantic male who, unconsciously or not, uses his physical presence to intimidate others. An alopecia sufferer might view it differently than the fulsomely follicled. If you loved Will Smith in his Disneyfied movies, you might feel tender toward him in his moment of frailty. Or you might feel betrayed.
To some degree, the slap acts as a Rorschach test, revealing our personal biases and worldview.
And we’re at a moment where our culture is thinking through its position on a ton of big issues, and our opinions are hardening, becoming part of our reputation and the backbone of our social coalitions.
For example, intergenerational trauma. Do you believe in it at all, never mind see it as an explanation or excuse for violent behavior? What about toxic masculinity?
Are there limits to what a comic can exploit for the sake of a laugh? What about their right to free speech? If you’re the victim of a joke, what type of retribution is fair and proportionate?
Have you settled on a response to the above questions? Okay. What if I now told you the assaulted comedian had been Betty White? What if Smith were a Caucasian female?
Important note: I don’t care to debate these questions but merely raise them to illustrate the charge and resonance embodied by this incident. Had Smith set out to create a moment with echoes in the current culture, he could hardly have done better.
People felt honor-bound to cast and recast the pivotal moment. To consider how that might affect the power dynamics, and therefore the consequences.
They felt involved.
Writing takeaway: Does your core conflict touch on issues currently roiling society? If your story evokes opinionated opinions, it’s more likely to go viral. (Just be careful what you wish for; viral does not equal enjoyed.)
5. Amplify the fallout.
Smith’s near-term career prospects appear damaged. Studios are unlikely to offer him the hefty roles that could earn him another Oscar. His affable nice-guy reputation lies in shreds. His wife and son will probably need to perform some damage control as they both seemed comfortable with his initial reaction.
Add in the extreme public nature of the event—that the cameras recorded every flinch or smile, who stood and applauded Smith, who appeared to validate his defiance—and that means that we get to parse everyone else’s reaction, too.
We get to decide who reacted appropriately, and whose films we might want to see going forward. Whose we’ll avoid. And so the consequences ripple outward, a hyper-engaged audience meaning an outsized and expanding chain of consequence.
Writing takeaway: Within your story world, make the conflict impact as many people as is reasonably possible. Can it say something about the main character’s larger society? Can that reflect on the real world? And when your story is published and you seek its publicity, consider pitching it to an already engaged “issues” coalition. Encourage them to take a position on the story’s themes, and offer solutions within your fictional world.
6. Harness the power of imagery.
The day after the Academy Awards, know who tweeted the above? The premier of my province. He’s conservative and normally would rail at the so-called Hollywood elite, discarding them as irrelevant to the working-man voters who form his coalition. He’s not exactly hip. Nonetheless, here he is, inviting curiosity and engagement from his followers, giving the story yet more legs.
Writing takeaway: Think of your main character’s moment of maximal change. Could your readers act it out and create an intriguing, easily shared visual? In other words, could it be made into a meme? If yes, congratulations. You’ve got a solid external conflict that makes your story’s virality more likely.
Now over to you, Unboxeders. What other infectious story elements have I missed?
A USA Today bestselling author, former family physician and academic, Jan O’Hara (she/her) left the world of medicine behind to follow her dreams of becoming a writer. She writes love stories that zoom from wackadoodle to heartfelt in six seconds flat: (Opposite of Frozen; Cold and Hottie; Desperate Times, Desperate Pleasures). Her latest Christmas novella, The Cowboy’s Comeback Christmas, is part of a 9-author-strong anthology (A Cowboy This Christmas: A Sweet Romance Anthology). She also contributed to Author in Progress, a Writer’s Digest Book edited by Therese Walsh.
[coffee]
This is an interesting analysis of real life drama and how it can be applied to effective story writing. At the same time, i find it disturbing for reasons that loom over many writing advice columns and workshops. There is a sociopathic element involved in clinically analyzing drama or trauma in order to use it for effect in writing stories that can sell or go viral. I wonder if this analysis could have delved into the various ways a very public drama deeply affected people, and how we can use our empathy and imagination to dramatize these feelings, rather than analyze which reactions by others were most successful in making the story go viral?
Really, Ed? Sociopathic?
That seems a bit much. One could argue that any author writing a murder mystery is doing the same thing you’re accusing Jan of. Writers have been telling stories of violence and death throughout history – and most of them without being killers themselves. And even outside of the world of writers, most of us have minds that occasionally allow themselves to think VERY dark thoughts, but to associate that with amorality and/or mental illness seems like a stretch. YMMV.
Me, I’ll keep reading the advice of “sociopaths” like Donald, Jan, and others.
Your comment on writers being sociopathic reminds me of the hilarious Phoebe Waller-Bridge SNL monologue (look it up if you haven’t seen it), in which she talks about how people assume she’s like the sexually-charged, outspoken character she wrote and played on “Fleabag.”
She said that, why yes, of course she is … and that she’s also a murderous sociopath like the character she wrote for “Killing Eve.”
Writers cannot convincingly portray a character without imagination and empathy. Empathy and identity are not the same thing. Writing by using devices that evoke reactions may result in something viral and successful but are not usually meaningful or convincing. I’m not accusing anyone of being sociopathic; I’m not a doctor. But emotionless analysis of other people’s reactions has a sociopathic element.
Then every behavioral specialist working with struggling children and adults has a sociopathic element in their personality. In order to remediate behavior, one must analyze behavior and reactions without inserting one’s emotions into the mix. Otherwise, one does not get anywhere in trying to help the person modify their behaviors.
The same is true of analyzing behavior in order to use it more effectively in writing. For one thing, in writing fiction, analyzing the behavior of someone who has–apparently–snapped is going to be doing so from the perspective of a character. The target? The actor? The observer? Breaking down the elements of an action from these differing perspectives and writing them effectively requires a.) understanding of how it works so that b.) one can convey the desired emotions more effectively.
The closer a written behavior in fiction comes to reality, the more effective it is going to be in evoking a response from the reader.
Joyce, I was nodding along with you until I reached the very last paragraph, where I don’t fully agree with the premise. (Would be great if someone like Don or Jim or Kathryn would weigh in on this!) The slap, for instance, did not belong to the behavioral reality that pre-existed the Awards. But we could instantly find any number of plausible reasons for Smith’s reaction.
We need the character’s goal and motivation to be grounded in reality. People need to act like people, however novel the setting or action. It’s a small technical difference from what you typed, but I thought I should clarify. Hope that makes sense!
Edward, I genuinely was simply pointing out a humorous anecdote that came to mind when I read Keith’s comment. I wasn’t addressing your point at all. I agree characters, at least successfully developed ones, need to be written with a degree of empathy. And as you concisely express, empathy is not identity.
As for your original comment, of course a post could have been written to explore how a very public drama affects individuals. That’s a topic I find quite interesting. But it wouldn’t have been this post, which instead used a recent public example as a jumping off point to explore techniques one might employ to craft riveting moments of drama with a story. For me, that’s an equally interesting topic.
Imagination and empathy are integral to writing convincingly about characters who are not like us. Your comments seem defensive and off the topic I was raising.
P.S. I was referring to the defensiveness of a number of writers here *on Jan’s behalf* as if she needed support. Not yours or anyone’s defensiveness for themselves, that’s beyond me to judge.
Don’t we have to analyze reality in order to create authentic fiction — to understand how people work, how lives intersect, how chaos plays on and upends people and situations, how our views are similar and/or different from those of friends and acquaintances (with a great example of that here on the appropriateness of analysis itself), etc.? I think we must.
Thank you for a provocative and interesting article, Jan!
T, when I chose this post’s category, I nearly ticked off “provocations.” ;-)
Some of us have a deep and abiding need to understand why people do what they do, and psychological truth in general. I wonder if that naturally leads to the choice to write character-driven fiction. Food for more thought…
Edward, setting aside the conversation about personality traits and art, notice the language you used to make your point. (One that many others share, by the way.) “Disturbing.” “Sociopathic.” “Very public.” “Deeply affected.” None of these are pablum words.
One of the most common objections I’ve read to the world’s overwhelming interest in this incident is that it doesn’t deserve mental space in a world of catastrophic climate change and war. But this is almost always said in a tone of passionate disengagement. Notice the cognitive dissonance?
There’s something about this moment that evokes strong and contradictory feelings in the larger world. I think that’s worth study. Pathologists conduct autopsies on murder victims; the best ones, IMHO, do an excellent job even as they wish it to be unnecessary. I’d even speculate that they can be a more effective advocate for the victim if they make their cuts without being emotional basket cases. (They probably leave that for later, when their partners and families help deal with the wreckage. And I say that as a former family doctor.)
IMHO, as writers, we can learn what takes a story viral, then use it to write a novel or play that advances a social cause we feel is important. That doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the trauma that led to our education. For instance, perhaps you could write a story that dramatizes how a moment of public downfall is used for others’ personal gain, then take what you learned in this post to make it go viral. (I’m being sincere even as I point out the inherent irony.)
Thanks for your provocative thoughts!
Really interesting analysis, Jan – well done!
In addition to the massive cognitive dissonance that moment generated, it tapped into a couple other things for me as well.
In replaying the event, there were things that made it ring untrue, causing me to question the motivation of the action we witnessed. From what I can tell, Smith initially *laughed* at Rock’s joke, then saw the look on his wife’s face, and sprang into action. So was he really standing up FOR her, or simply trying to save face in his relationship WITH her? So I guess maybe “ambiguity of motive” might be a tactic for a writer to employ.
Another thing that struck me (see what I did there) is the physical action Smith chose. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a man SLAP another man (outside of some hilarious Youtube videos of actual slapping contests). I worked in some pretty rough bars over the years, and have seen a lot of punches, kicks, choking and body slams, but never a *slap.* I mean, who does that? That’s another thing that made the moment both surreal and something that rang a bit untrue.
Finally, this viral moment became a massive source of schadenfreude for countless people. While many people elevate celebrities in their minds, they also often find a cruel delight in seeing “how the mighty have fallen.” Smith gave such people some serious bang for the buck in that department, and it’s definitely something one could capture in a story, bringing a seemingly noble and gifted character crashing down based on his or her own bad behavior.
Interesting stuff, this. Thanks for posting!
Keith, some excellent points. In light of the conversation with Edward and your last point, it reminds me of the Don Henley song, Dirty Laundry. He satirized the schadenfreude rich news cycle but enriched his own pockets and status as a taste-maker in the process. Most everything we do in the public sphere is designed to protect or enrich our status. Otherwise, we’d confine our opinions to our diaries.
Regarding your first two points, the oddity and ambiguity of the occasion are absolutely elements of virality. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle we feel compelled to put together, lacking benefit of access to any participants’ thoughts. If we’d had access to Smith’s internal dialogue, for instance, would we be nearly as intrigued? I don’t think so. We’d know if the slap were a last-minute pulled punch, or if he thought it to be more humiliating than the alternative.
If the camera had been mounted on Chris Rock–providing the visual equivalent of first-person narrative, versus the classic, omniscient visual–how would it have affected our emotions? Our engagement? As a writer who probably relies too much on internal narrative, it heightens my respect for ambiguity, blank spaces, and the need for readers to fill them in.
Thanks for weighing in.
Your analysis was shared by many, A.M., including seasoned news reporters on Twitter. An example of normalcy bias in play? Either way, it provided fodder for much speculation.
So good to “hear” your voice again, Jan — you have been on my mind recently. I enjoyed this post as I am constantly amused – and sometimes angered – when viral moments flare-up to become what used to be called water-cooler moments (I guess they’re zoom pre-meeting minutes nowadays). I also find myself wondering what elements cause them to ripple so rapidly and powerfully across the social fabric. I think you covered a lot of ground and hit upon the many elements that made this a captivating moment. From a storytelling perspective, incorporating some of them can be powerful.
While unrelated to your excellent points about what factors made this incident such a prism of storytelling gems, I found the incident interesting for another reason. There was something about this being between two celebrities that made the incident more accessible for general discussion. Not saying that is fair – actors are people too – but so many things which capture the public’s attention these days involve previously unknown individuals suddenly thrust into the limelight. This everyday person quality can create a lot of strife in discussion, with folks approaching the matter with pre-set perspectives and ready to do nearly physical battle to defend their position, which in my opinion is driven by a lot of unresolved personal trauma (across society). It seemed to me people managed to be talk about this incident without triggering vitriol. People who might otherwise be at each other’s throats or out to score political points instead exchanged observations, which was a refreshing change from what has become the new norm.
Thanks for the food for thought on a rainy Monday, at least here in the mid-Atlantic. Be well, Jan!
How lovely to know you’ve thought of me, John. I can honestly say the same is true in reverse. Perhaps soon we can do more than meet in the virtual realm. I would love that!
Interesting thoughts about the psychological distance created when we’re talking about actors. It’s almost like they function as avatars. Perhaps this is part of Edward’s objection to the prompt for my post–the depersonalization that must occur for us to have rational conversations these days. It’s an interesting tension, isn’t it? How to remember their humanity while going abstract enough to learn from their frailties. How not to “other” people in their downfall.
I’ve tried hard not to tip my hand to my analysis of the event, because this is a writing blog and not a psychology or social justice blog. But it is a useful point.
Thank you for what I would call a courageous post. I think there is another story element here that is a cousin of cognitive dissonance that can be used in storytelling. Like you, Jan, I’m not interested in debating the moral pros or cons of the act itself. I’m far more interested in the very components you list that can define a story with universal and visceral appeal.
I suggest that such a component is the moment when a character discovers that the story he’s been telling himself is not true. My example centers on the story the Academy has been telling itself for ages: that film does such *important* work, that Hollywood is a leading voice in social progress, that film works magic that affects people’s lives and makes them better.
My take on the event is that the members of the Academy couldn’t deal with the raw shock of it — as you say, after the slap everything seemed to grind on in the bloated self-congratulatory way that is the hallmark of the awards. (my take, my stuff).
Afterward, the Academy released a lofty tweet that said, “The Academy does not condone violence in any form.” But the life-blood of Hollywood is violence. So the Academy’s statement is patently false. Violence among actors on set is hushed, violence on the screen makes lotsa money. Suddenly the thin conceptual barrier between “Hollywood at its finest during the awards” and “How Hollywood pays for your designer dresses and all the bling you’re wearing tonight” was shredded.
I can envision a pivotal moment for a character who has believed his work has been important and good, filled with self-righteous disdain at the bad behavior of others suddenly discovering that his self image is a tissue of lies and pretense — where he’s faced with a question that has no easy answer, but requires a sea-change in world view.
So thanks for your post!
Lloyd, you nailed it with THIS:
‘“The Academy does not condone violence in any form.” But the life-blood of Hollywood is violence. So the Academy’s statement is patently false.’
Wow, Lloyd!
“I can envision a pivotal moment for a character who has believed his work has been important and good, filled with self-righteous disdain at the bad behavior of others suddenly discovering that his self image is a tissue of lies and pretense — where he’s faced with a question that has no easy answer, but requires a sea-change in world view.”
This is fantastic, Shakespearean stuff. I’ve got a puppy in need of a walk right now, and no quick examples come to mind. But I think you’ve just found a way of encapsulating an entire internal content genre. Let me think on this more!
My impression of a sociopath comes most strongly from comments by an actor learning how to portray a sociopathic character. She spoke of a sociopath who saw a terrible accident happen in which a mother cried over the body of her child lying in the street. The sociopath studied the mother’s behavior without any personal emotion, in order to be able to copy that behavior and use it to evoke sympathy from others when needed. I think every writer and writing instructor should pointedly hold onto an element of humanity and empathy when discussing writing techniques.
I hear what you’re saying, Edward, and I applaud the sentiment. I do think there’s a material difference between one who cannot empathize with another versus one who does, but who sets aside their emotions for a time to gain a clear-eyed analysis. I also think you might have a story in you about this point. I don’t know if you’ve read my comments above, but Don Henley’s song Dirty Laundry was born in such a moment of revulsive critique.
I’d also be interested in hearing what was missing for you to feel comfortable with the discussion. Would some kind of content warning have been more useful to you? In my determined neutrality about the incident under the microscope–because I don’t want my opinionated opinions about what transpired and its ramifications to become THE story–perhaps you’ve misunderstood the intent behind my detachment.
I ask because it applies to the trigger warnings some writers now place at the front of their novels, and that IS a writerly topic. (Perhaps one for another day; my sense is it could make for an entire post of its own.)
Ooh, I have zero interest in a content warning! I think the interesting point to me is the “determined neutrality” which seems to be standard for writing discussions, classes, and coaching. In working with writers (no fault of yours, it is the way it is!). Writing instructors certainly don’t want to turn a discussion about writing into a war of opinions about content, and yet by insisting on neutrality, the content that actually drives someone to want to write a story is relegated to a private issue and technique is made the acceptable public focus. I think this breeds a type of writing that develops technical and marketing skills. Cold writing is valued because it is safe to discuss. Over many years as a music teacher, I have found that bringing in my personal preferences about technique, and my personal take on a style and its cultural context, but knowing enough to deliberately allow and appreciate other techniques and other views of culture, brings in a human element that people really appreciate, and that is more motivating than a sterile consideration of technique. Where do empathetic writers like Dostoevsky, Neil Gunn, and Chimamanda Adichie fit into the standard writing teaching and advice? I suspect their humanity and empathy is too hot to touch!
Edward, okay. Your perspective is a little different than I understood it to be. Clarity is helpful! If I’ve finally got it right–and that’s a big IF–perhaps our disagreement is over scale. (The musical pun was unintended, but it fits.)
Don’t feel the need to answer, but how many students would you handle during any one teaching episode? I’m guessing it would be less than two hundred. And if you go off into the weeds in a debate over technique, how many opportunities do you have to rectify misunderstandings and get to the performance at hand?
The distraction potential for an online blog–inhabited by a room of extremely eloquent people, with the option to invite an infinite number more to wade in on hot-button issues–is magnitudes different. Hence the tendency to linger on sterile analysis and technique, for me in particular, at least regarding this singular post.
Anyway, we’re straying away from the intent of the post and will wind down my end of the conversation. But I do thank you for helping me clarify my thinking.
Your posts always come at topics from an angle I hadn’t considered, Jan, and I always learn something unexpected. This one is no different. Thanks for making me think, and for generating such a fascinating discussion.
WU peeps are thoughtful peeps, Liz. My gratitude to you for helping me clarify what I was trying to say!
Wow! I’ve seen a whole gamut of emotions here, from commenters coming to verbal near fisticuffs to others keeping the discussion civil, rational and productive. It speaks to the power of words to both evoke hot feelings and to soothe them. My thanks and congratulations to all who have added their voices to this conversation, on a topic that is too far-reaching for a single post.
“It speaks to the power of words to both evoke hot feelings and to soothe them.”
Absolutely, cmvenzon! And it is a huge subject, encompassing worlds of issues and viewpoints. I’m honestly weary of it myself; writing this post sent me an a path of reflection, and that’s AFTER the many conversations I had with the ToolMaster about marital dynamics. That said, were I a sociology Ph.D. student in search of a dissertation subject, this would intrigue.
I always love seeing you at WU, Jan, you know that. And always impressed, or in this case blown away, with the depth of your insight and analysis. It’s the sort of post that should be bookmarked for situations in novel writing that require the injection of the unexpected and the laying of clues and red herrings.
I think Ed missed the point of your post; you are one of the most empathetic people I know, but this was a fantastic lesson in how to use drama in writing fiction. It’s not your responsibility to also demonstrate in the same post that you are empathetic to the situation and persuade us you aren’t a voyeur callously mining someone’s pain for your writing pleasure. In fact, IMO it would have diluted your post if you had. If we study a person’s reaction to the discovery of an affair, a transgression or a body so that we can realistically portray that in print, is that sociopathic? Of course not. As to engagement with social issues that might be the subject matter of the book and its impact on society, don’t we want a wider audience reading our books? Isn’t that the point of targeted marketing?
Deborah, if the post was useful to you, I’m delighted. The comments have refined, reinforced, and added to my points, which is exactly as hoped.
In a funny way, the conversation has only illustrated the ability of the original incident to ripple consequences outward. I mean, who thought we’d have a meaningful debate in the comment section about teaching philosophy? While I didn’t, I shouldn’t be surprised. WU peeps are empathetic, intelligent folk, yourself included.
There’s a difference between teaching writers–or musicians, dancers, artists–technique and nurturing their creativity. WU has posts about both. I learned a lot from this one that focuses on technique, Jan, even though I didn’t expect to when I saw the title!
What a succinct explanation of the emphasis in this post, Barbara. Thanks! I’ll use it to set a conscious intention when I write future posts. And I’m thrilled if you found it useful.